


Fangirl

by FluffySherlollyFan119



Series: Baker Street Confections [2]
Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlolly, F/M, Fluff, References to Hamlet, Sad!Molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:13:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4567578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffySherlollyFan119/pseuds/FluffySherlollyFan119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for the incredible Mizjoely:  Sherlock taking Molly to see a play (heh, doesn't have to be "Hamlet").</p>
<p>It most certainly is Hamlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fangirl

On the morning of the 11th of August 2014 Molly Hooper woke up early, well earlier than she usually did on her days off. Sneaking out of bed at 8:30 without waking Sherlock up was a challenge and it took her all of 10 minutes. It had taken her a week to find someone who would switch her day off with hers so she could be free on the 11th, this was important and she didn’t need Sherlock ruining it or making her late.

When she finally managed to make it out of the bed she showered and brushed her teeth and dressed in black yoga pants that tied at the knees and one of Sherlock’s white-gone-grey t-shirts that fit her like a loose off-the shoulder shirt. She made herself a breakfast of cereal and coffee, stopping to peek in on Sherlock to make sure he hadn’t fallen out of the bed, again. He’d been gone for a solid ten days without food or sleep so it would be a while before he woke up, she knew. She also knew that when he was excessively tired he tended to thrash around in bed and had once even rolled off and gotten his head stuck between the bed and bedside table.

She sat down on the red tartan armchair that was once John’s, set the laptop up on the coffee table she had moved in front of the chair. As Molly typed in the address bar her fingers trembled with excitement. If she was lucky today she and her best friend would be watching one of the greatest plays ever written with one of the handsomest, most talented actors of his generation in the lead in a year’s time.

Molly and Meena had been fans of Benedict Cumberbatch since he was cast in a BBC show that, admittedly, was quite forgettable but his performance hadn’t been. They had followed his steady ascent to fame almost religiously. They had gone to the premieres and midnight screenings and squealed and giggled like two tipsy teenagers together over their laptops in the hospital canteen watching the interviews he did and the trailers that came out. But now he was about to star in a West End production of Hamlet, the very same Shakespeare play they had both studied at school and in a venue not more than 20 minutes away from where they lived.

The website finally loaded and Molly clicked on the link to take her to the ticketing office. The page that was uploading now was rather plain: a light grey background with a white header and the theatre’s round logo in orange at the top with white lettering. A white box in the centre of the page held black lettering explaining the online queue process with a grey bar holding a green box and a white stick figure. Molly’s heart sank as she read the number atop the grey bar. ‘There are 27,568 people in front of you’ it read.

“Not to worry, I’m sure there’s plenty of seats, it is a 14 week production after all, with matinees.” She convinced herself.

All day she waited in front of the computer watching the little man inch closer and closer to the front as the green bar filled. Sherlock eventually woke up and was about to take ‘borrow’ her laptop when she pointed a fork at him.

“You. You touch that, and you will be dislodging this from a very uncomfortable place for a long time to come.” Molly threatened looking him dead in the eyes. She couldn’t help an internal smile as she saw Sherlock’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and then down as he swallowed. He let her be after that, making sure to keep a safe distance away from the laptop at all times and even rescuing poor Toby from Molly’s wrath when he climbed atop it and closed her window. Molly found that he had in fact only minimised it but after having waited 3 and a half hours already she didn’t like the idea of losing her place in line.

At about 5pm that night, the little man finally made it to the front of the line and Molly’s computer dinged. She was redirected to a page where each show was listed and her heart dropped again as she realised that almost every one of the nights was sold out with very little exceptions. The ones that were left had only two or three seat scattered around the theatre so that if she and Meena did decide to go they wouldn’t even be able to sit next to each other. She clicked through night after night and even went to the partner websites advertised on the official website but there was nothing.

Molly shoved the laptop further back on the coffee table in a huff and crossed her arms with tears in her eyes.

“Molly? What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked having noticed her sudden change.

“They’re all gone.” She whispered

“What’s all gone?” Sherlock asked carefully, hoping that whatever had just happened wasn’t his fault given the mood she was in.

“Tickets. Hamlet. They’re all gone. Meena and I can’t go.” She peeped up again, more resigned now than before.

Sherlock carefully turned the laptop around to see what she had been looking at. Like her, he quickly reviewed the information in front of him.

“I’m going to go make some tea, I’ve been sitting here all day and I’m hungry.” Molly said as he surveyed the screen.

As she was in the kitchen, she could hear him clicking away at her laptop, but she didn’t bother. She was finished with it so he might as well use it, at least she wouldn’t have to deal with his snarky comments which were sure to follow soon. After a quick snack she decided she would take another shower to try and revive herself a little after a day in front of the screen. She cleaned the kitchen and went down to Mrs. Hudson’s to throw a load of laundry into the washing machine. When she returned to the living room and sat back across from Sherlock with a good book in hand, he glanced back up at her and continued typing a few more lines before he cleared his throat.

“Molly.” He started carefully. When she looked up at him he continued. “It took longer than I expected but I did find you an alternate production of Hamlet at the Globe theatre around the same time as the one you were looking at.” Sherlock explained as he turned the laptop for her to see.

Sherlock beamed thinking he had done Molly a huge favour and was rather expecting the usual way in which she showed gratitude: her throwing her arms around his neck, kissing him and saying ‘Thank you, thank you, Sherlock.’ Before remembering whom she was with and taking a step back and apologising. It was true that he didn’t like physical contact much but she was the exception to the rule. Either way he certainly wasn’t expecting to see Molly frowning at the screen in front of her with an obvious look of sadness on her face.

She took a deep breath and sighed before she spoke. “Sherlock.” She said endearingly. “Not that this isn’t…” She started as she gestured to the laptop before clearing her throat. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you looking for this it’s just that Meena and I didn’t want to go to any old production of Hamlet. We wanted to go to the one at the Barbican.” She explained.

Sherlock took the laptop away from her again and clicked through the pages a few more times before looking back up at her. “I don’t understand, Molly. As far as I can tell the production at the Globe is supposed to be more prestigious. Is that not where the original play was performed about 450 years ago?”

“Yes. Well, actually, no. The original theatre was burnt down, then rebuilt and closed by the puritans sometime in the 17th century. The one that stands now was built in the nineties and is actually in a location completely different to the original. But for argument’s sake, yes it is where the play was originally performed.”

Sherlock blinked a few times trying to pinpoint why Molly had pointed out such mundane facts to him when he was trying to understand and help her.

“But that doesn’t have anything to do with the production, Sherlock. Meena and I just want to see the one at the Barbican.” She explained trying to avoid telling him the reason. It really was silly that a grown woman with a perfect boyfriend (at least to her) would be obsessed with a man whom she didn’t even know. Then again, Molly thought, they do look similar, and Sherlock’s acting abilities were rather good, though he’d have a long way to go to be able to compete with Benedict Cumberbatch.

“But what’s the difference?” Sherlock blinked again, hating himself for so obviously missing something.

“Everything!” Molly retorted.

“And how do you deduce that? The only difference I see is that the one at the Barbican is directed by someone called Lyndsey Turner and stars someone called…” he stopped to squint at the name on the screen. “…Benedict Cum-ber-batch.” He pronounced the name slowly. “That is one of the most ridiculous names I have ever heard. Who is he?”

“Of course _you_ don’t know who he is. The whole world knows who he is but the great bloody consulting detective doesn’t.” Molly snorted.

“Oh, of course! He’s an actor.” Sherlock deduced. “And given your attitude and the speed with which the tickets have apparently sold out I’d say he’s a particularly popular one too.”

“He’s only the best actor of his generation.” Molly defended.

“What could possibly be so great about him?” Sherlock asked as he started to type the name in the search bar. He didn’t even get to the third letter before the previous searches came up. Clearly Molly entered his name into the search engine rather frequently.

“He’s just brilliant. His acting is brilliant, it’s sublime and just everything acting is supposed to be. He’s just amazing.” Molly prattled off. There was now hiding her love for his talent now and frankly she didn’t care if Sherlock misread the situation.

“I’d take it that your admiration with the man is more to do with his looks rather than his talent.” Sherlock continued as she silently scrolled through the image search results pasted all over the screen now.

“I’m not saying he’s not handsome, but no, my admiration of him is completely to do with his acting.” Molly stuck her chin out in confidence at her statement.

“And the fact that he looks exactly like me except for the frankly ridiculous hair has nothing to do with it.” Sherlock stated sarcastically.

“Said the man who uses women’s hair products on his.” Molly countered.

“I’ve explained this before, the products made for men are clearly not made with the same intentions as those made for women.” Sherlock defended. “I do not dye my hair as frequently as he obviously does.” He pointed out.

“He does it to make his roles more realistic.”

“Still ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

The conversation ended there and they spent the rest of the evening in companionable silence with the turning of a page or the clatter of keyboard keys occasionally breaking the silence.

//////

**One Year Later**

“Yes, Meena, I know.” Molly said down the telephone as she handed Sherlock his tea in the living room. “What’s the point of going to see him at stage door if we can’t even get an autograph?” She came back carrying her own mug and sat down in the armchair that was now hers – just like Sherlock’s but cream. Sherlock had noticed her spending and inordinate amount of time in his chair rather than hers and had deduced that she found it more comfortable so he had switched out John’s old chair for a new one in cream which he knew she preferred anyway.

“Meena, if I knew that I would definitely get to speak with him or get an autograph, yes I would come down with you but honestly it’s too much of a hassle.” Molly said, bored with the conversation.

As he looked at Molly, Sherlock sent a quick text message to his least favourite person in the world, hoping to make quick work with the task at hand.

“Fine, I’ll call you if I change my mind. Bye.” Molly ended cheerfully. She sighed as she slouched ungracefully in her chair.

“Molly, don’t pout.” Sherlock said texting again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… I really, really, really wanted to go to that play.”

“Why don’t we go out tomorrow?” Sherlock offered.

“What? Where?” Molly asked completely taken off guard.

“A nice restaurant. You like restaurants, no?”

“Yes I do, but Angelo’s only holds so much charm.” Sherlock didn’t usually do dates. When he did take her out it was always to Angelo’s. Only very rarely did he change things up and take her to a Chinese or a chip shop.

“I wasn’t thinking of Angelo’s, actually. There’s one in Moorgate that John recommended to me. Mary said it was lovely.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, yes, I’d love to go out with you.” Molly smiled.

“Good.” Sherlock nodded as he fired off another text. Molly left him to his work and got ready for her own. She had the night shift and would be home late tomorrow morning which gave her just enough time to rest before their date.

//////

As she got out of the cab at Baker Street she received a text from Sherlock.

_Welcome home. There’s a surprise for you in the bedroom. Have a good rest. xSH._ Molly smiled at the little x’s he had started leaving her in his messages since they had properly gotten together.

She climbed up the stairs, calling out for Toby because she just knew that Sherlock hadn’t fed him anything. The cat came bounding down the stairs from the third floor bedroom which he had moved into and snaked around Molly’s legs nearly sending her crashing. She walked into the kitchen and prepared Toby’s lunch and then proceeded to make herself a nice turkey sandwich. She was contemplating whether or not to take a shower before or after she went to bed when she remembered Sherlock’s text. She got up and trotted to the bedroom excitedly.

When she came into the room she didn’t see anything at first. As far as she could tell everything was still the way she had left it the previous night, but then she realised that the black dress she had hung out the night before wasn’t there anymore. She turned around and saw a rather large white box on the bed. She sat down and gently lifted the lid, revealing lots of pink tissue paper which she dug into to pull out the contents. It was a dress. Not just any dress though. It was a spectacularly beautiful dress.

It was blue. The kind of blue his eyes were, ice blue. Sleeveless with a boat neckline that when worn would settle on the collarbone, coming down to a plunge at the back, cinched in at the waist with a matching blue ribbon and opening up again into a bell shaped skirt that went down to just past Molly’s knees. Molly ran her fingers through the chiffon skirt, smiling at the luxurious feel of the fabric between them. The lining underneath was of the same blue and made from sateen and came up to a sweetheart neckline that Molly knew would accentuate her breasts in just the way she liked and far better than the black dress she was to previously wear. The entirety of the dress, from neckline to hem was covered in white polka dots with brocades around the middle of her skirt and from her waist to her breasts, coming up at the sides to stop at her shoulders. Molly held it up in disbelief, trying to comprehend how much a dress like this would cost. Her text tone pulled her out of her thoughts.

_Thought you would like a nice change. xSH._

_I do. It’s lovely, Thank you. Xx._ She wrote back before taking a photo and sending it to Mary and Meena. She sat the dress aside and got into bed. She had a feeling she would need her rest and that it was going to be a long night to remember.

//////

“Hurry up, Molly. We need to be there by 7 or they won’t let us in.” Sherlock said from the living room as he waited for Molly to finish up in the bedroom.

“Are they that strict on reservations?” Molly wondered out loud as she tried to put on her earrings.

“Yes, Molly.” Sherlock said quickly, trying to avoid spilling the secret. “The cab’s here. Let’s go.” He was holding her coat now, ready to help her put it on whenever she deigned to appear. Oh this was going to be a very long and boring night.

“Okay, you can help me put my necklace on and then I’m done.” She explained as she came out of the room wobbling trying to put one shoe on while placing her phone in her bag.

“Wow.” Sherlock said as he saw her emerge from the hallway. Molly looked to see what the cause of Sherlock’s muttered amazement was. She’d only heard him utter that word when an experiment or two had taken an unexpected turn and yielded surprising results but as she looked up at him his eyes were directed towards her, memorizing every detail of her as she looked right now. Molly smiled as she realized that this time the surprising result was her.

“You’re the one that bought it for me, silly. Didn’t you at least try to imagine how I would look in it?” She asked with a slight twist of her head to the side.

“Yes, I did.” Sherlock swallowed. “But I certainly didn’t imagine you’d look this good. You look beautiful, Molly.”

Molly was about to answer when they heard the honk of the cab outside. “We better get going, we don’t want to miss our reservation.” She said as she stepped forward quickly and put her hand through the sleeves of the coat that Sherlock was still holding out unaware.

When they got into the cab, Sherlock handed the driver a piece of paper with what Molly assumed was the address. They sat in the back, hand in hand, while Sherlock recounted how he had solved his latest case as the car whizzed about the streets of London in the setting sun-light.

“This is as close as I can get.” The driver said. “This road’s completely closed off, no other way in or out.”

“Here’s fine.” Sherlock assured as he handed the driver some money. “It’s just a short walk from here, you should be fine in those heels.” He told Molly as he looked down at her silver, bow-tipped peep toes.

As they walked Molly was looking around trying to figure out just where in London they were and for signs of any sort of restaurant. When she looked down at her watch and saw it was only 8 minutes to 7 she started to worry.

“Sherlock are you sure that we’re going the right way. Only you said we wouldn’t be let in after 7 and we’re cutting it close.”

“Don’t worry, it’s just round the corner, we’ll be fine. Are you alright in those heels?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine” she said as she trotted to keep up with him. “It’s your long legs that are the problem.” She laughed, taking his hand discreetly.

“Close your eyes.” He ordered as they were turning the corner with a little squeeze of her hand. Molly complied as she let him direct her along the sidewalk. They walked for half a minute longer before Sherlock stopped and Molly felt him move behind her. “Okay, open them.” He whispered into her ear.

As she opened her eyes Molly didn’t know what she was expecting. Maybe a restaurant reserved entirely for them. Maybe even a ring on the table. No, that couldn’t be right, they were still outside. Her smile was so wide that it actually hurt her cheeks now. She opened her eyes nice and wide to look at the scene in front of her.

Before her stood a modern glass building, beautifully lit with the words Barbican Theatre on the front. There was a huge crowd at the front. Molly turned to Sherlock in utter disbelief.

“Sherlock, what are we doing here?”

The detective smiled his mischievous smile and took an envelope out of his coat breast pocket and handed it to Molly, who opened it with shaking hands. Inside there were two tickets. Correction: two tickets for two of the best seats in the house for that night’s production of Hamlet at the Barbican theatre.

“How…?” Was all Molly managed to say.

“I _made_ Mycroft help. What’s the point of having a brother who’s practically the British Government if you can’t abuse his power to get theatre tickets?” Sherlock said as he grabbed Molly’s hands again and started leading her towards the crowd.

Molly couldn’t believe anything that was happening, the next 15 minutes flew by and she found herself sitting in the audience at the Barbican staring at a mirror like curtain. She texted Meena as quickly as she could who sent her back a sad face emoticon and asked to at least get her a signed copy of the program if she could. Molly promised her she would try and turned her phone off as the lights began to dim and the loud hum of a talking crowd dimmed to silence. The curtain went up and out walked the Benedict Cumberbatch.

“To be or not to be…”

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea of Molly being as much of a Cumbercookie as the rest of us. Now if only the rest of us had a handsome super sleuth boyfriend whose brother practically was the British Government.


End file.
